Tres y Muerte by Clinock. 17×14 in. 43×46 cm. Acrylic on paper.
Xochi Quetzal Artist and Writer’s Residency. Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico. October 2019.
“there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
a space
and even during the
best moments
and
the greatest
times
we will know it
we will know it
more than
ever
there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
and
we will wait
and
wait
in that space.”
― Charles
Bones in the flowers.
Halloween in Firenze.
Juxtaposition
Photo and haiku by Clinock
sorry, I couldn’t resist
a Brush with Death. by clinock. 6″ x 8″ (15 x 20 cm). Mixed media relief in cradled panel.
Why are we not all born
with a jester attached?
With us until we die.
To keep us awake.
To remind us of the truth.
To fill mortality with laughter
and the jingle of bells?
If the jester
listens to her jester
as the brain listens to the heart
she may eventually find peace
among the flow and thrust
of our twisted ribbons.
Are we finally saved then,
can I relax now
or did i get it wrong again?
I’m certain I saw a family resemblance
and, it was only yesterday was it not
that the ferryman winked at me?
And although the days are losing definition
I’m certain it was the same day
you made a necklace out of acorns
and hung it around my neck, laughing.
The partnership is blessed
and sacrificed
at the same moment.
The breast to the memory stone.
Not a circle after all but an arc.
And all is suddenly Carnival,
bright and loud and gilded,
showing the folds and creases
of pockets and wallets and bags
as we leave them at the door.
Unburdened
we are
free to dance.
The Jester and her Jester. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.
Painting and poem by clinock.
warm and salty winds
caress bones and sad singing
of a dancing past
The Carnival is Over. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.
Painting and haiku by clinock.
Mortality by Clinock.
From blazing deserts and cold oceans
I walked the road that leads to nowhere,
A hero of my own adventures,
Taking life as my lover and
Pride as my guide
I never noticed, I was blind
To the third always walking beside us,
Hooded and cloaked.
A figure waiting patiently
In shadowed meditation.
But now I sense the presence
Of the third always walking beside us;
And I creep quietly away
From the truth that steals light
From my day.
There is no geometry of hope.
No angle in which to hide.
There is no dissection
Through which light can enter
My empty heart.
The road kill and the graves
Of thousands of brothers and sisters
Share the truth of
Mortality. The end of all this
Is inescapable.
art rat cafe 